


The Black Knight

by Twisted_Fate_MK2



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), RWBY
Genre: Adventure, Brainchild o' Mine, rewrite of an older story, world merging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27716954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Fate_MK2/pseuds/Twisted_Fate_MK2
Summary: In ages past, an Undead sought answers in the land of gods. Then he sought destiny. And then he sought out mercy, for those who he honored. Then he finally sought an eternal rest, and found it as kindling for the First Flame. Or so he thought, as he instead found himself awoken and entombed in ash and stone eons later. And now he must find something else to seek out.(DDDK Rewrite, finally running)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 38





	1. Rekindling a Flame, I

XxX----XxX----XxX

Official Supporters: 

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If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM me for details or join our private server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, please leave me a comment to let me know if you did, or where I can improve. Link here, where able to be seen : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

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I have a kofi account now, too, under this name for those interested.

Beta(s) : 

Supreme Fox Waifu, Mika

XxX----XxX----XxX

Fire was many things, to the Lords the people they ruled over and protected in Lordran, and further, to the many men of the petty Kingdoms of Men that surrounded its glittering light.

Safety, protection, succor, guidance- A sign of the very Lords themselves, even, seated on their sparkling mount so high. And beyond them, a sign of life, and the way to safeguard it. Against the Dragons and then beyond, against the base, savage beasts that threatened to ravage and savage, and cruel men just as good as. 

And, ultimately, of power, to grant it these things so deservedly.

Many worshipped Fire for this nature, or interconnected with the divinity of the Lords. A conduit for prayer and sacrifice, and beseechment most sincere and pure. The primal power had, after all, first been found, nurtured, by the Lords themselves. So it took them on, as symbol and name alike, and was etched into the hearts of men and temples of stone across the land.

But Fire cared not for its tenders or wielders, beyond their propensity to feed its never-ending hunger, or become fuel themselves. And so the moment one grew too comfortable with Fire, the moment one grew to take it as a given, they suffered dearly for it. Consumed themselves, or damned to lose their loved ones to its primal needs, it was all the same. This was the truth of the matter, ultimately, then.

Fire was a beast… Primal, natural, an unyielding force bent on ignoble ends for all who dared think it their thrall.

Fire was divine…. A shield against hunger and suffering alike, and a means to so many ends of nobler nature.

The Undead knew this truth as well, if not better, than any other in the now debatably mortal world. The Curse of Undeath was said to be born of, and perhaps even borne by, that very primal force, after all. As the Fire of the world itself sputtered and died, Undeath only grew and spread. Like a pitiable plague of pests, swelling in number and madness until all were overwhelmed. All prolonged only in the hope of finding a solution, an end to the chaos and madness and interminable terminations that wracked the souls trapped on their mortal coils, by the sacrifice of the most powerful being in all of existence.

Gwyn, once the Lord of Sunlight, who know stood before him, wounded and weak and Lord of nothing now save the ashes and the cinders. A tragic, truly ignoble, ultimate end for such a noble Lord to meet. And bitterly ironic, too, for the weapon that had so neatly hamstrung him only an unliving heartbeat before. A Black Knight sword, no doubt once forged to protect the very Lord before him, that weighed ever heavier in his hand.

Now, charred and blackened and bloodied by divinity once shielded behind it…

Even charred by the Chaos flames that had blackened it so, the edge still shone a bright, nigh defiant silver that glinted beautifully with the flames around him in the semi-dark of the Kiln. Just inside that keen edge where razored silver met black, charred metal a spider’s web of elegantly and thinly swirling silver curls. A calligraphy born of Titanite, gently and expertly shaped onto the ancient metal by the hands of the friendly blacksmith in the tower, that turned the weapon into something truly magnificent to behold and use. Those same gentle, elegant, and yet so exorbitantly powerful swirls coated the rim of his tower-shield and the plates of his Steel armor, the edges of both glowing so faintly as to almost be invisible outside the darkest of scenes where the light could play across the gently glimmering Titanite.

And running black with the brackish, blackened blood of his battered Lord…

He saw the hateful red eyes of the creature glance behind him, to the center of the Kiln, almost protectively, and readied himself for the attack he knew would come to him. A last instinct of the creature’s, left over from before his hollowing out. Just like the Hollow soldiers damned to rotting posts, and the Knights outside damned even more. Beyond body to their soul, ensconced in armor now arcane, and damned to stand in defiant defence of a Lord long since deceased.

Save the admittedly powerful twitches of his corpse.

“This was not a fate they deserved. Or you, Lord Gwyn.” He felt the thoughts reverberate through his mind as he turned, raising his shield in front of him and drawing his blade back and down, to the ready. “Forgive me, Lord, as I release you all from it.”

Hissing angrily as though in answer, the creature raised its sword and wreathed it in flames, leaping with its only good leg and swinging a clumsy if incredibly powerful slash across his armored chest from his sword-side. The blow did nothing itself, though the flames wreathing it seared the flesh of his stomach and drew a grunt from the Undead warrior, and he brought his shield rim down into the shoulder of the Hollowed Lord and shattered it. 

The creature roared, and the Undead warrior’s sword arm thrust up, burying the Black Knight’s sword to the hilt in the fallen God’s chest and ending the roar in a wet and sad choke.

It struggled weakly for a moment, before he saw the fire in its eyes flicker and finally sputter out, and he cast his shield aside as the body fell limp. Cradling it to him like a man might a fallen brother, he knelt and laid it on the ash covered ground, gently pulling the blade from the wound and laying it beside him while he set to work straightening the God-King’s legs and folding his hands over his chest. The crown he removed only so long as it took to draw forth a rag and wipe it clean, and then he replaced it so that he might rest, regal, even now.

“And so, the mighty Lord of Sunlight finds his rest. And, I hope, his peace as well.” He intoned quietly, voice echoing around the Kiln and out even further, coming back like whispers in the dark.

Whispers of the dead, his mind offer him contemptuously, before he shook the thought off and rose. Turning, he looked at the simple sword in the center of the Kiln of the First Flame itself. He left his weapon and shield with the dead god, a last tribute for a fallen Lord, and lumbered to the hilt buried in the bone and ash of the bonfire that had taken shape inside the Kiln. Kneeling before it, he sighed, and raised his hand to light the bonfire.

And with it, as the flames crawled up his body, sucked the very air from his chest, scorched along his every fiber and the Kiln burst to life around him, he murmured a nearly silent prayer that someone would find a way forward where he and his fellows had tried so hard and failed so greatly.

Into a better future, one that did not send Lords and Men into madness for the failures of their leaders and past.

XxX----XxX----XxX

He awoke not to pain, as he thought he would when he had finally lost himself to the kiss of fire on flesh, but to a dry throat that gasped and choked on ash and old, trapped smoke. His visor was almost entirely covered, only tiny pinpricks of dim light making their way into his armored mask from whatever source it came from. It was faint, and flickering, and distantly he could hear the sound of feet.

And voices he did not understand beyond the panic in their words.

“Ani! Ani, jebal!” He heard a woman's voice accompanied by the baritone of a man’s cruel laugh, before a sound like thunder cracked.

Ani! Petra, jebal- Wae?” Another woman cried, repeating the word again and again as he felt… Life, nearby, draining away. Silent, he reached for it, letting the Souls - the Humanity - of the slain flow into him as the word repeated. “Wae? Wae? Wae?!”

Flashes, then.

Trees, mountains, strange horseless carriages- Cars, the memories told him, then a woman, face split by a wide smile and hair cut by gentle, elegant ram horns. A child - Copper, for her russet hair, the memories spoke - held in her arms. Of a word. ‘Anae’. Spoken a thousand times, over rings and cloths and papers and tears. Anae.

...Wife.

The memories rush forward, then, as the man’s cruel laugh split the air once more. As though the dying woman wished him to see, to know, something.

Forests rolled by through the iron fronted windows of a train, another new thing he could not comprehend even though he knew it. A fervent look to the Wife, hands held, and silent resignation of what to come. Thoughts of home, a child left behind to be earned for, that quieted fear and set them to purpose. Geunyeoleul wihae mwodeunji.

‘Anything for her sake’.

Then men in black and blue armor, their fellows - sporting tails and horns and scales and wings - filed into lines and given a speech by a portly man in white. A bored looking, cruel man. Another traded look, more resignation and a whispered ‘anything for her’. Then, a whistle and a hand on the back of the dying woman’s neck, dragging her out of the line and to the side.

The first beating.

The first.

Then, a cramped dorm, and orientation. A pick, a hammer, a helmet with a flickering light that fit so tight her own little horns hurt, throbbing on her forehead. A week in he, she, thought to forego it. Then she heard alarms and saw Faunus hauled out clutching bloody limbs and bloodied heads.

Or clutching nothing at all.

More flashes- Grimm attacks killing soldiers and work crews alike, and far more of the latter than the former. Soldiers coming home on an airship without their work crew. Lies, about Grimm that targeted the Faunus but ignored them. A leaked helmet cam… Then, riots. Riots and violent suppression by force of arms, soldiers too afraid to face the beasts that wandered the world more than happy to turn them on barely armed miners. Of the White Fang’s attack, barely a handful ramming through a gate to try… Something.

Of a panicked flight into the mines, to shelter from both sides…

Of the lot of them being hunted through tunnels, fleeing deeper and deeper through long stripped and abandoned tunnels. A wall that was weak, that fell through with the mildest of hammer blows. A wide cavern, rounded but collapsed in places and smelling of ash, with rolling hills like frozen, liquid rock. Of hiding in it, lights off and arms around each other, until new lights found them.

A gunshot that cut off a plea with fire and a laugh...

“Please, I-I wasn’t with them-”

“We don’t care, you animal.” The voice, of the fat, white-dressed man, laughed out. “We’re clearing the site for the next round. Hopefully they’ll be more docile, less demanding. Maybe it’ll keep the Grimm at bay.”

“I won’t tell anyone.” The muffled voice promised while he let the woman’s Souls invigorate him. Her Humanity, restore him. Her rage fuel him. “I-I swear, I just want to-to provide for my daughter. I’m all she has!”

“Shame.” The man laughed as stone cracked, his voice masking it from him. “But you know what they say… Two people can keep a secret if one of them are dead.”

Stone screeched as it shattered, exploding upward as a gun cracked, rock and dust showering him as he tore free of stone and ancient ash. Standing, he turned a glare first on the woman at his feet, clutching a bloodied leg and wearing scant more than rags. Then on the portly man and a pair of automatons standing, rifles raised and level on his armored, ash encrusted chest.

“What the fu-”

“No.” He rumbled, taking a step forward as the two machines opened fire on him. His flesh seared as they bored home but he ignored them, closing on them and grabbing both by their heads. Towering twice their height and width, it was like holding a child’s head in his hand…

Copper…

Metal and wiring spilled out from between his fingers as he crushed their heads and hurled them aside. They crumpled against the wall from the force and he stepped by and to the side, cutting off the portly man as he tried for the exit. He pressed his back to the wall and raised his heavy handgun, yet another word he didn’t know, then looked to it and tossed it aside contemptuously.

“W-Whatever you are-”

“Knight.” He rumbled, leaning close enough to smell his sweat through his ash-caked visor. “Protector. You?”

“F-Foreman, for the Schnee Dust Corporation…”

“Wrong.” He rumbled, throat raw and aching even for the paltry souls the woman had gifted him. Grabbing him by the throat, he hefted the man into the air, “Killer. Murderer. Unworthy of the gift of life.”

“B-But I can- Hrgl!” He closed his fist around the pudgy throat until he felt the familiar, heady flush of souls, then dropped the heap to the ground and turned.

“P-Please, Nia… Come on, stop playing games.” The woman, bleeding from her leg still, begged, laid over the body of the other woman. He turned and took a single step towards her and her head snapped up, amber eyes locked onto his own no doubt crimson ones. “Please, I- She won’t get up- You have to help me, help me carry her.”

“Can’t.” He rumbled, kneeling as the ash and stone cracked and fell from him, exposing weathered but still faintly shimmering armor. Laying a hand on her shoulder that was so large his fingers reached nearly to the other blade, he paid the fallen woman a small look. “Already gone.”

“How do you know-” She cut off at the sound of more footsteps and looked back to him as he rose and turned, measuring the room with his eyes. Pacing across it to where he knew it to be he knelt and curled his fingers into a fist, punching down through ages of ashen stone with a crack. Jumping, the woman hissed, “W-What are you doing?! They’re going to find us!”

“No.” He rumbled as fingers found the rim of his shield and he yanked up, ripping the frail stone apart like so much paper and showering the far wall in stone. Drawing the relic weapons out and standing, he growled, “I am going to find them.”

XxX----XxX----XxX

“His tracker implant leads this way.” Their point man, Sergeant Ifrit, said quietly as the three of them advanced in a too-tight chevron, forced in close by the confines of the mines. “Life signs still negative. Hostile contacts probably.”

“Contacts…” She sighed, adjusting her hand on the pistol grip of the surplus bought pulse rifle. It was shoddy, hard-locked to three round pulses as a rule by Atlas when they let them be sold on the open market. Regardless, “Just rats in a maze. Waiting for the cat.”

And, well, she’d prefer to be the cat to being the rat.

“Prepare for room clearing.” Sergeant Ifrit ordered as they rounded a corner in the ragged, abandoned tunnel. “Two, left. Three, ri-”

The sound of stone shattered cut Sergeant Ifrit off and sent them all to their knee, wary of a potential cave-in. When nothing came after half a minute they slowly stood and turned looks on each other, silently checking they were all still there and steady. Satisfied, and now sure that something was up ahead of them, they raised their rifles and moved on in silence. At the end of the hallway they could see light, presumably coming from a hole in the wall where their targets would be hiding.

“And so the Goddess came up the knight, laid low by blade o’ steel.” A low, rough voice whispered, carried through the cave and filled with a strange… Energy. Like electricity hanging in the air, setting their hairs on edge. “And on his wounds, of bloody ken. She laid frail hand on newfound friend. And said unto him… Be healed!”

A bright light filled the dark cave suddenly, so much so that it blinded their dark-vision visors for a moment until it faded. As her vision returned, she flicked a gaze to her side to check for Two at her side. He nodded and they looked to Sergeant Ifrit, One, at their front as he rose and held a hand to his side, fingers flat.

Silent, he bobbed his hand forward twice and then moved forward.

“Free- Ack!” Sergeant Ifrit rounded the corner just as a piece of steel as large as him ripped through it, shattering the stone of the crevice and crushing him against the rock on his other side. It yanked back and a dark figure lumbered into view, towering so high it had to stoop in the too-short tunnel.

“What the fuck…” Two murmured as it looked down on them, crimson eyes boring into their visors silently. “Fuck! Grimm!”

His rifle snapped up and the creature’s hand followed, landing palm first on the barrel and then crushing the rifle as he reached for Two’s hand. Enveloping it, crumpled rifle and all, and squeezing, he wrenched up and slammed the man into the ceiling so hard his body molded to each and every contour of the rock. Then he slammed him down to do the same and left him there, bloodied and ruined.

All she could do was watch as he turned, yanking his red-stained sword from Sergeant Ifrit and turning to her. “I’m not a monster. I’m a monster slayer. Yield or join your fellows in their graves.”

“F-Fucking shit…” She staggered back, rifle snapping up as the creature’s shield snapped into place between them, Dust rounds pinging uselessly off it. 

“No surrender, then.” He sighed, taking a single step forward as she backpedaled and threw herself to the side. Her last view was red eyes and a glint of shimmering silver, lancing up and towards her.

XxX----XxX----XxX

“Such a shame…” He sighed as he flicked the blade down and let the woman’s body fall. It slumped and he used the blade to nudge it and then her fellow aside, out of their path so that they would not be stepped on. “I would have preferred survivors to cadavers.”

“I-Is it safe?” He turned, the dirt and blood flecked face of the other Faunus. Crimson, poking her head around the corner nervously.

“For now.” He nodded, raising his sword to the ceiling and murmuring, “Guiding light, burning bright. Guiding light, free me of darkest night.”

In answer, a fist sized ball bloomed to life, casting the cave in a pale white light. It would not last, he knew, but he only needed it for a short while. He knew the path out, after all, from the woman’s soul alone. Even if he hadn’t assimilated the other souls, he had that, and so long in the mine brought an understanding of it.

“Follow behind me, Crimson.” He ordered quietly, locking his shield in front of him for rote routine if nothing else. Watching the woman as confusion crawled across her face he went on, “But do so at a distance. I shall cleanse the path of all that would bar your way to your daughter. Believe that o’er all else.”

“S-Sure…” She murmured, “But what are you?”

“A knight.” He answered quietly, turning his back to her and raising his arms. “A protector in the dark.”

This time, literally.

XxX----XxX----XxX

The riot hadn’t gone as planned, when he leaked the video. The miners were too scattered and lacking unity, and the soldiers too eager to shut them up when they started their shouting. His men had been too slow and far away to react in time, and by the time they’d gotten in in force, the bloody work had been done. An entire camp, purged, with every last miner dead or missing. They’d search the mine, soon, but…

There was little hope there.

Still, Banesaw uncrossed his arms and lumbered toward the main mine entrance, ordering over a shoulder, “Three men, with me. One of you best be medical. If anyone’s alive in there they’ll probably be-”

“Sir, footsteps.” One of the soldiers searching the dead troopers, who had not been spared the treatment they’d doled out so eagerly. His white wolf ears flicked as he stepped away from them and raised his scattergun, “Two. One of them is very large, a bit bigger than you, Sir. The other, carrying something.”

“Rifles!” He ordered, backing away to the center of the smallish mine-camp, the blasted and broken perimeter wall behind him. “Even spacing, you know the drill!”

He only had fifteen fighters, half of them armed with pilfered rifles before they’d gotten here and now all of them packing them. But to the last they obeyed, scattering to either side of him in loose but disciplined enough lines to receive whatever came out. After a moment his less sensitive ears picked up the heavy sound of boots on rock, and metal shifting. Then a glint of steel and an almost… Eerie glow of red that he felt instincts rail against.

“Gri-”

“Ho there, and well met, my friends!” A booming, bright voice called out from the mine’s front. “Please, don’t shoot at me. Those things hurt quite a bit, you know! And you might hurt my friends. I only just saved them, and so I would rather you not do that.”

Finally, the figure emerged, massive and caked in dirt and rock that was still falling off of him. He was probably a foot or two taller than Bane himself, which said a solid something considering his own prodigious size, and as wide as Bane was with half a Bane to spare. He lowered his hand as the figure stepped into the light, gazing up almost reverently, while a small Faunus emerged.

Carrying a still woman over a shoulder.

“Medic!” Banesaw called out, paying the titan a look before surging forward to take the body from the tired woman, kneeling with her to lay her on the dirt.

“The blessed sun…” The titan murmured, planting his sword in the dirt and laying his great shield against it. Then, slowly enough it was like molasses rolling down a rock, the man’s arms rose into a ‘V’ as he stretched towards the sky. 

“You helped them?” He asked as the titan recovered, turning to him and nodding slowly. “Why?”

“They needed it.” The warrior answered simply, retrieving his weapon and turning to the broken wall as their lookout called out a warning. “As do you, it seems… You have a way out, yes?”

“I do.”

“Good.” He lumbered towards the wall, sword resting across a shoulder, “Take it, flee. I shall hold the line to buy you time.”

“We can’t return for you… We’d be leaving you behind.” Banesaw warned, eyeing the man for a long moment and frowning. “Why would you die for us, Human?”

“H-Human?” The giant turned to him and then laughed, the action shaking his entire body. “Well. Yes, dying is such an inconvenience. But it’s been so long since I have been called that… You asked me why?”

“I did.”

“Anything for her...” He answered quietly, almost like they were automatic words. Then he sighed, shaking his great head and taking a breath, the warrior answered more earnestly and brightly, “And in the name of jolly cooperation, of course!”

“Jolly… Cooperation?” Banesaw murmured, confused for a moment. 

“Of course.” The giant laughed, a sound that rumbled through the air as he set his shield down, watching the woods. “Between warriors and protectors such as we, such a thing is most important indeed. Now go, ‘fore the beasts arrive. I shall be well, fret not!”

“...Withdraw!” He ordered after a heartbeat, “Grimm coming! Take what you have and get out! To the Bullheads in the trees!”

As they rose into the air, minutes later, he watched from afar as one Beowolf clanged into the giant’s shield and was hurled away so hard it exploded into dust on impact. Another two were bisected in a single mighty sweep he made as he stepped forward and opened his guard wide enough to bring a foot up and down on the skull of yet another.

“Best of luck, Human.” He rumbled as the door slid shut and he turned away, “You deserve that much, at least.”

XxX----XxX----XxX

The language I used for the Mistrali Faunus was Korean.

Because logically, he wouldn’t know their language.

I know a handful of languages at google translate level, by which I mean not really beyond basic words. But Korean isn’t one. So if you see any errors, blame Google Translate for them.

Also, yes, this story is back, kinda. Another revamp, because I love doing that, lol. This time with even more practice and learning. And no, the Undead Boi - as he doesn’t have a name yet - isn’t going to be some broody boi. He was angry in this chapter, but relaxed a bit later on once he could see that the danger was gone. I quite liked the happier persona from the old version, and will be keeping that.

Hope you all liked the new start, and look forward to reactions from you all!


	2. Rekindling a Flame - II

XxX----XxX----XxX

Official Supporters: 

Fanatical Fucking Reader, ScrubLord Yoda

Compulsive Reader, The Impossible Muffin

Commissioner, Gib, Espa Cole

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM me for details or join our private server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, please leave me a comment to let me know if you did, or where I can improve. Link here, where able to be seen : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

Second link here, remove ( and ) and it SHOULD work : D(i)scord(.)gg(slash)kfhkfUb

I have a kofi account now, too, under this name for those interested.

Beta(s) : Mika

XxX----XxX----XxX

It wasn’t very hard to find what he was looking for when Oz sent him out, there were only a few little places scattered along the mountains where the old man had pointed out on the map. There were a handful of mining camps run by the SDC, scattered around the mountain like shitty little jacks. And there were a handful of smaller villages, too, scattered across the woods and scraping by with what they could off the land. The mining camps hadn’t been very forthcoming about anything when he’d showed up, asking about anything odd happening at the settlement.

Which was typical of the SDC to say the damn least. Wouldn’t want anyone talking about accidents in their mines, after all… Not that they didn’t happen, of course. The SDC just didn’t want it discussed was all.

One of the smaller villages, though, had a lot more to say…

“Yeah.” The head of the village’s watch, an old man with greying hair and a missing eye, said quietly. “Happened out that’a way, at one o’ them hell mines. All kind’a Grimm and shootin’. Fang, too.”

“Yeah?” Qrow growled, raising an eyebrow and holding up his Scroll, “Mind markin’ it out on my map? Unless you know it’s designation…”

“I don’t on either of ‘em.” The man had laughed, waving for him to hand over his Scroll. “Hand it over, I’ll jot it down fer ya. Should be pretty obvious when ya see it, though.”

“Yeah?” Qrow hummed while the man worked at his Scroll, “Why’s that?”

“Because the place is wrecked.” The man answered with a shrug and a dark laugh as Qrow took his Scroll back, “No worries, you’ll see.”

Truer words had never been spoken...

“It looks like a warzone out here, Oz.” Qrow grumbled, perched on a rock outcropping high above the ruined mining camp. “Walls are trashed, half the mine’s collapsed, broken security mechs everywhere… And some psycho burned all the damn bodies, too.”

“All of them?” Ozpin asked, sounding… Intrigued, somehow, rather than disgusted. “As in, every single one of them? Guards, miners, Humans, Faunus- All of them?”

“Yep.” Qrow grunted, looking at the wide swathe of scorched earth outside the walls of the mining camp. Every last one of ‘em. There are weapons laying everywhere, too, and plenty of scrap an’ Dust to go with it.”

“They didn’t loot, either…” Ozpin murmured quietly, sighing and going on after a moment of thought, “So that rules out a bandit tribe with one of those four, then. Bandits might burn or bury the dead, but they certainly would not leave valuable materials behind. And the Grimm?”

“Plenty signs of ‘em, and reports from the locals, too.” Qrow answered quietly, “But none here, now. So whoever was here last they killed everything and left. Or the Grimm didn’t bother them...”

“That’s not something I’ve ruled out.” Ozpin agreed, “But why would she take an interest in a simple mine…”

“No clue.” Qrow shrugged and sighed, standing so he could pace along the edge of the cliff and watch the forest, “I had a good look through the mines, too, and didn’t see nothin’ but tunnels and rock. Some signs of fighting, too, scraps of armor, droids, weapons, that kinda stuff. But this isn’t my field.”

“I know.” Ozpin nodded, tapping a knuckle against his chin for several long, long moments of thought. Finally, he ordered, “Stay in the area, Qrow. Ask around about Salem’s cohorts, if you can do it quietly. I’ll send Doctor Oobleck along. If he can find anything in the mines that might be able to explain what I sensed, then we can continue our investigation.”

“You’re bringing him into the circle…?”

“No, no.” Ozpin waved him off easily, chuckling under his breath, “I’m going to send him to investigate strange Grimm activity in the mines as a Huntsman. If something interesting is there, he’ll find it without me telling him to look. Then you and I can use that to continue the investigation, and find out what happened here.”

“Alright.” Qrow sighed, “I’ll find somewhere good to shack up then.”

“No, don’t wait there.” Ozpin said quickly, before Qrow could end the call. Instead he raised an eyebrow and Ozpin said, “Go to Mistral, and see if you can turn up anything else on our little mystery here. Doctor Oobleck will be there soon enough, and you can meet him after he arrives, but if this is as important as I suspect…”

“Nothin’ll come from lollygaggin’.” Qrow nodded, “Mistral. Got it.”

“Very good.” Ospin nodded, and then smiled roguishly, “And… Good luck, Qrow.”

With that, the old man ended the call and Qrow sighed and growled a curse. Watching the trees he frowned and took a single step off the ledge, falling and shifting from man to feathered flier and soaring away on the warm winds.

Something felt wrong here...

XxX----XxX----XxX

“Welcome to Mistral, and I hope your travels went well.” The tired looking clerk said as he approached one of the dozen or so little kiosks set in front of the city’s wide gates. The man was young but weary, dressed in a dark brown and maroon uniform his pilfered memories told him was the uniform of Mistral’s military, eyes locked on a screen beside him while he shuffled on no doubt sore feet and asked, “What brings you to the Kingdom?”

“Business.” He rumbled quietly, looming over the booth while the man’s eyes trailed up his massive, armored, unfortunately filthy armor to his masked face. “I come in hopes of a rest, and, perhaps, meeting some comrades of mine while I look for my next venture.”

“I-I see.” The young man nodded, taking a breath and asking, “Papers, please?”

“I fear I lost my papers in a battle some time past.” He not-quite-lied, smiling behind his mask. Truth be told, he had lost his papers. Only, far before he reached Lordran. Still, the half-truth would suffice, and he saw the man grimace sympathetically. “I was hoping there would be some… Way to deal with that?”

“I can issue you a lower tier travel permit on a cheap Scroll.” He nodded, turning to work on his terminal idly. “The Scroll will be registered, so I’m obligated to mention you can’t get another soon.”

“Why is that?”

“Mainly to prevent hoodlums gaming the system to get a bunch of cheap Scrolls.” The man answered quietly, pulling a drawer open and setting a cheap little metal thing on the kiosk table in front of him. While he worked, he talked, “A few years back, a small gang of them did that. Used it to coordinate hitting a caravan. Ever since, the Council is more careful about that sort of thing.”

“Wise enough, I suppose.” He answered honestly, “Better to be safe than to be sorry, no?”

“Yep.” The man nodded, drawing out the word while he finished working. Pointing up at a little box set over the kiosk, he said, “Look there, please.”

“Alright-” A flash blinded him, for the shortest second, and only the woman’s memories kept him from panicking and smashing the little machine. Growling, he turned back to the man and leaned forward to rumble warningly, “I don’t like surprise flashing, young man.”

“R-Right, sorry.” He nodded, tapping the Scroll and smiling nervously. “T-That was, uh, for your profile picture on the S-Scroll. It’ll do the job on the lowest tier, until you can get your stuff replaced properly.”

“Right.” He took the little thing carefully and slid it into a pouch hanging off of his waist. Smiling, he asked, “May I enter, then?”

“Yes.” The guard nodded, looking more than a little relieved that their meeting was coming to an end. A fact which amused the Undead warrior more than a little, used to such reactions by now. “If you try to pass through the districts into an upper tier, the kiosk workers will stop you. But you have free reign over the lower tier, and may leave the Kingdom proper if and when you want to.”

“I see.” Useful information, that. “Then if that is all, I will be on my way.”

“Have a good stay in Mistral!”

Inside, the lower tier of Mistral was essentially the same as he would have imagined it, and as she remembered it. The buildings here were old and worn, their cracks covered by wooden reinforcements that were themselves covered in graffiti and vibrant cloth that did its best to hide the sad, often drooping buildings. The roads, some of which were barely more than muddy paths winding naturally between buildings, were no better. He could see the old paving under the ruin, but cracked and broken as it was, much of the stonework was as liable to break an ankle or stick a wheel as to do much else.

He put his weight behind crushing those stones down, lest they harm anyone in the future.

Navigating the weaving and winding pathways of the lower tier, his instincts told him, could lead to those less inclined to navigating such places lost. Wandering until they found help, or bumbled their way into freedom from the labyrinth. Even she had trouble telling him which way to go until, eventually, he stumbled onto a wide, open square of sorts that ran along a river for easily a hundred yards. Every inch of which was thronged by eateries and seats, and stalls filled by workers who did all they could to respond to the throngs of comers and goers flitting to and from a long series of river-docks that adjoined the riverside marketplace, using the massive river like the natural highway it was.

The beauty of so much… Life brought him to a stop for a long time. And, he was unashamed to admit, to a tear.

“This is why you died, Brothers mine…” He murmured, thinking of so many faces and visors, shields and swords, that he had seen broken in his un-life. “The sun, it shines. The people, they live. And the world, it has healed. How… Absolutely beautiful.”

After a moment, he found a low, crumbling wall behind a few stalls and sat on it, spending his time simply… Watching the people pass by. Few paid him any mind, and the wall seemed part of a building so long since fallen as to have been replaced by the massive trading square entirely, so he was left in peace. At least until small, anxious hands tapped at his armored side, drawing his attention down to the dirty face of a young girl.

“A-Are you a Huntsman?”

“After a fashion.” He nodded, “What need have you of me, my child?

“U-Um…” She trembled, eyes flicking to the ground for a moment before she took a breath and held up a shiny blue rock for him. “T-This is a gem I found in the river! W-Will you take it and h-help me save my friend?”

“Your friend is in danger…?”

“S-Some Humans took him.” She nodded, and now that he looked at her he could see the smallest horns peeking out from under her vibrant red hair, just over her ears. “T-They said that since he couldn’t p-pay for a sleeping spot, t-they’d take him out to the woods an p-put him to work.”

“Hm.” He rumbled, rising slowly and turning to her, sword resting on his shoulder and shield on his arm. Setting the latter aside, he held his hand out and rumbled, “My sword is yours, to save your friend, my child.”

“T-Thank you!” She beamed, setting the very obviously plain, if blue, rock in his palm and pointing at an alley. “T-The warehouse is just through there, b-by the river-docks!”

“Lead the way, if you please.” He nodded, slipping the stone into his mystic pouch and taking up his arms. “I shall liberate him, you have my word.”

She nodded and then she was gone, slipping through the crowds like a fish through water towards an alley some twenty feet away. He followed, parting the sea she had slipped through by virtue of his great size. And, of course, thanks to his great weapons, easily larger than a third of the people he passed by.

The alleyway was small and filthy, sided by trash cans and ramshackle hovels very obviously slapped together out of whatever the poor living there had to hand. It pained him beyond words to do it, but he ignored them, following the young Faunus as she went. He rounded one corner and found the other end of the alley, overlooking a massive water-side, likely partially floating, warehouse.

“He’s in there!” She said, pointing at the building, “I-I don’t know where…”

“Rest easy.” He murmured, stepping by and crossing the narrow pathway to lay a hand on the wall of the warehouse. “I shall find him.”

The alley he had taken hadn’t let out on a road, but instead on another, slightly wider, alley that ran behind the warehouse. There were no visible doors, though, nor windows that he could reach to get into the building. And he didn’t particularly fancy looking for the doubtless busier front end of the warehouse to make his entrance, for the obvious point of it being so busy and so obvious.

Instead, he set his weapons to the side and rested his hands against the old bricks of the wall and, using his fingers, crushed them, hurling the crumbs of brick to either side behind him as he dug. Slowly, quietly, he ripped apart the bricks themselves as he made his own door. It didn’t take more than fifteen minutes to dig out the stonework, digging it out like a normal man might soil with a shovel.

He hated the delay, but he knew that simply smashing through would only bring attention to him, and put the child at risk.

Eventually, though, he stepped through the hole he’d made into a long, narrow office of some kind. Cubicles filled the space, stocked with computers and shelves and machines to help those consigned to them do their work. But all of it was covered in enough dust and grime and cobwebs that he was certain it had been at least a year since anyone worked in any of the cubicles. And lucky for them, too, as he could practically feel them sucking his soul away just in being near to them.

That any could stomach service to such a place, he would not have believed were it not for her memories.

A faint, dying light flickered over a sliding door across the room and he made his way over to it to try and open it. It rattled but resisted him and, looking through the cracked and filthy window of the door, he could see a chain that had been threaded around the door handle to keep it locked and shut. But he couldn’t see anyone, so…

The chain was stronger than the door handle, and snapped the latter off with a muted click when he yanked it to the side. He stepped out and into the empty hall and hummed, looking to either side for anyone who might have heard his entrance, “Well, that was certainly easy enough. Too easy…?”

Maybe, and as always, his instincts screamed dire warnings of dark hallways and their habit of hiding thieves and assassins, and small blades in between his ribs. He’d experienced more than enough of those to be wary. Shield locked against his side and ears open, he picked a direction and began to walk the old, dust and cobweb filled halls slowly.

Nothing came of his anxieties, though, and for that he was grateful.

“...shipment needs to be out of here as soon as possible.” A man’s voice reached him after a few minutes of walking, as he neared a corner. Standing at it, he closed his eyes and listened closely. “

“Why?” Another, a woman this time, asked worriedly. “Are the police sniffing around?”

“Of course not, dumbass. The hell do you think we pay ‘em so much for?” The man scoffed a laugh while, as quietly as a small giant in full plate and chain could manage, the old Undead leaned around the corner.

There were two of them at the end of a cleaner hallway with better lighting than the one he was in. They were both wearing the same robe-like clothing he’d seen the Mistralians wear throughout the city, but each sported a stubby little firearm of some sort, with a wide, short barrel. Beyond them was what looked like a warehouse of sorts, from which the sounds of a small number of men working echoed faintly.

This was where he needed to go… And their backs were to him, the both overlooking the warehouse and sitting on old, metal boxes that had been heaped at the mouth of the hallway. His armor was not made for it, and he was loath to take the path of a coward, but if Lordran would do one thing to all who entered it, it was break those who survived for more than a week of their haughty self-indulgences and honor when it came to battle. He had kept much of his, but then, these were not worthy of honor in any event.

And he who struck first won, after all, and these curs would offer him none of the honor he was so tempted to offer them.

“Don’t call me a dumbass.” The woman growled as he stalked forward, fingers flexing along his great weapon. 

“Then don’t be a dumbass.”

“I wasn’t!” She argued hotly, “I was just… I dunno, worried, I guess. You never know when some shiny-shoed twit from the upper tiers will come down to try and fix shit around here.”

“Yeah, I guess you have a-” His boot struck the floor and his armor chinked and tinkled quietly, and the Undead saw the man stiffen and turn. “What was th- Hagh!”

He lunged the last couple feet in a flash, shield rim snapping out and caving in the man’s head like so much tissue paper. He collapsed without another sound and the Undead warrior pivoted on a heel, sword whipping through the air as she sucked in a breath to scream and her bright green eyes widened. His sword caught her at her hips and cleaved through, carving her into two pieces that tumbled to either side silently.

Sighing, he stood and looked out at the warehouse, searching for any that might have seen him. But, “No one noticed… Good.”

“Hey… Asshole…” He blinked and turned, raising his sword high as the woman, already dead but too stubborn to let go yet, raised her weapon. As his own came down, crushing her skull outright, her weapon cracked loudly, sending a cluster of shells slamming into his face and throat as his sword came down.

He stumbled back, snarling his surprise and hacking on blood and metal as cries of alarm echoed around him. Instinct brought his shield up as a heavy hammer of some kind came down, clanging heavily as the bear of a man wielding it swore. Angling his shield so the hammer slid to his side, he thrust the sword up and into the man’s chest, shattering through bone and flesh as easily as air.

He hurled the man aside and raised his shield, warding off the staccato bursts of a rifle firing on him as he made his way towards a trio of men in ratty clothes. They raised small, blocky handguns on him to add volume of fire, but most were stopped by shield or armor. And what weren’t did little more than sting on his flesh, like bees biting him.

“I grow weary of this.” He growled, watching them retreat further and further as rounds ricocheted away, peppering the crates and walls around him. “And any one of those could have the boy…

He sensed no life from them, of course, but that wasn’t a sure thing. If he was unconscious, it might not be possible to sense him over the city’s natural ambiance of life. And he could not use fire here, the wood and dust would catch like tinder. So…

“And lo, for the clerics foes stood ahead in rank abreast with steel of chest and spear of wood and iron.” He rumbled, feeling the familiar rush of power coursing through him as he leveled his sword at the three gunmen and recited the words he had been taught so long ago by his rounded friend. “And for Lord’s mighty steed o’ charge, he bellowed forth ‘Strike them down, oh heavens high! Emit Force, lest noble charge should die!’”

Heavenly white light washed along his sword and crackled, before rocketing out light a bolt of lightning. The man in the middle shouted a warning just before it struck him, blowing him apart and cracking the ground below him, as well as shattering the wood around him. His fellows scarcely fared any better, the crackling power of the Miracle ripping through them and hurling them aside as it detonated. He felt both die a moment later as he stood and sighed, shaking his head.

“Fools.” He rumbled, “They must have known they stood no chance against me. So why…”

No one answered him, of course, and he set about his search properly, murmuring, “And so the Lady, shining sun, laid hands upon the wounded one. And by her hands, the kindly one, she did see harm come undone.”

He sighed as the lesser Miracle soothed his mild injuries and reached out, ripping open one of the crates. Inside were weapons and materials, stacked neatly but so mismatched as to be obviously stolen. The next was much the same, only, food. Then Dust, that strange little material that so many had died for where he had awoken.

Finally, as wood and metal gave way under his powerful hand, he heard a little shriek and stepped aside.

A boy, no larger than one of his legs, missed him by several inches and planted the sloppy shiv he’d made into a slab of wood instead of the Undead. Wrenching it out, the boy turned to him and hissed, long, forked tongue whipping out angrily at him. The Undead danced back as the boy pursued, swiping and slashing with all the viciousness of a cornered animal that knew its time was coming.

“That will do me no harm.” He pointed out, adding, when the boy only hissed again, “And I believe I was sent to find you.”

That, at last, made the boy pause. For a long second, he seemed to consider him, before he murmured, “Who by?”

“A young Faunus girl.” He answered simply, resting the edge of his bloodied shield on the floor. When the boy only seemed more suspicious, he offered, “Her hair was a bright red, and she had small horns above her ears. I did not ask to see them, however, so I do not know what manner of Faunus she is.”

“Crim…?” He murmured, making the Undead flinch and shiver at the word and the memories that tried to pour out for it.

Forcing them down by force of practiced will, he said, “As I told you, I did not stay to examine her. She asked my aid, and my aid I gave. Her name is unimportant to me, in the moment. Only your fate was.”

“Fine.” The boy said quietly, “Lead me outta here. B-But you stay in front. Any funny business and I’ll shiv ya.”

“That won’t…” He sighed and turned, nodding for the boy to follow him and offering, “Oh, very well then. Come along, child.”

It didn’t take long to lead him out the way the Undead had come, though he felt a distant echo of sorrow for how unperturbed the boy was by the corpses of his foes that he had left behind. He’d barely paid them any mind, except to stop and try to search them. A grunt and a glare had ended that though, and they had made uninterrupted time after that.

“Jason!” Crim cheered as soon as the boy slipped out of the hole the Undead had ripped into the stone. She leapt on him and, surprised, the boy collapsed with her on top of him. “I-I thought you were gone, you dumbass! What were you thinking?”

“That we’d have food tonight if I pulled it off!”

“You moron! I prefer you to food any day, and you know better than to rob the smugglers!” She squealed, crying into the boy’s shoulder while he unsurely looked to the Undead.

“Don’t ask me.” He shrugged, turning and trundling off without concern.

“Thank you Mister Hunter!” The girl called after him, drawing him to a stop. Turning, he looked over his shoulder to see the girl smiling widely and waving to him. Her smile was so wide, so innocent…

So precious, and it drew forth memories not his own.

“He sought to feed them…” He murmured, reaching into his storage pouch and drawing out an old, long unworn ring of his. 

It was a useless thing to him, leaving him feeling drained and frail after he had recovered it from the Hydra and tried it on, but the emerald at its center was no doubt worth something. And he could be relatively certain that they would not wear it, rather than selling it on to fill their pockets and bellies.

“Children.” He called back, turning and tossing it to them. “Eat well!”

One of them caught it and, as he left, he heard the boy exclaim, “T-This is an emerald! A-And gold!”

As they chattered excitedly, he smiled.

XxX----XxX----XxX

“You’re certain it has magical properties?”

“Mhm.” Qrow nodded, sitting in the room he’d rented and looking at the little ring with a frown. “Hard to explain, but when I’m near you, I can… Feel the magic, if you catch my meanin’.”

“I do.” Ozpin answered, “This feels the same?”

“Nah, it feels similar.” Qrow corrected him, setting it on the nightstand and looking at the old man’s curious visage on his Scroll. “You put out a kinda energy, an’ so did Rae. Dunno why, but it felt like output. This does, too, but it feels like it takes somethin’, too. There’s an input there.”

“I see…” Ozpin nodded, “Have you put it on?”

“Hell no.” Qrow laughed, “I dunno what the hell it’d do if I did.”

“Fair enough.” Ozpin sighed, thinking for a long moment before nodding and ordering, “Keep it on you, and safe. When the doctor arrives, have him date the ring. Say you found it in the mine, or whatever you like. When I get it in my hands here, at Beacon, I will do a more… Specific inspection of the item.”

“Got it.” Qrow nodded, “Anything else?”

“That will be all.” Ozpin smiled, “I have Initiation to prepare for, after all. And a young, silver-eyed brunette attending.”

“Keep her safe, Oz.”

“I will.” He nodded, “Take care, Qrow. And good night.”

“Yeah.” He sighed, closing the call and laying out on the cheap mattress. Turning a look on the shiny little thing he sighed and pocketed it, doing his best to ignore the sickly feeling it gave off while he tried to sleep.

Tried being the key word,between the mess he’d seen in the old warehouse and the weird feeling the ring gave off.

XxX----XxX----XxX

In this chapter, he used Emit Force and Heal Excerpt. The ring he gave away, though he didn’t name it, is also the Dusk Crown Ring. A solid ring, for some builds, but not for a tanky boi like our Undead.

Also, for Emit Force, you’re met to sing it like a rolling lyric, where one word rolls into the next smoothly.

As always, this is a side-project, written purely in idle and free time, and only possibly thanks to my Supporters. So expect imperfections, but I hope you enjoyed it!

XxX----XxX----XxX

Not-so-british-brit :

Glad you like it!

Joe Cola :

Some people write to publish and show their art, others write for themselves. As long as you enjoy it, I am happy for you!

Yvori Gevura :

The, er, complications regarding Gwyn are hard to implement and, frankly, might not change this kind of character regardless. However, you are right that much waits to be explored further in the lore. If possible, I intend to cover as much of it as I can while exploring my narrative.

The Alaskan Kid :

Maybe!

WhaMrSlaMr :

Praaaaaise!

Smokey Panda :

Happy to hear it!

Ever Peach :

Yeah, I enjoyed writing a jolly stabby boi, and people enjoyed reading it, too. There will be angst, of course, that was hinted at early on. But this isn’t an angsty character.

Frosty Chops :

I imagine that it’s… A bit of a voluntary thing, to absorb everything that way, normally. But he was catatonic and long-dead, so it wouldn’t have been. Of course, you could also have the interpretation that a Human mind couldn’t comprehend some of what the more horrific things in DS went through, and so ignore it.

Interpret as ya like, is what I’m saying, lol!

Gods Own :

Honestly? I kinda did, too. Buuuuut this story through and through has a bit more planning in mind than the other did. So hopefully it will be good.


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